


Where you Lead, I follow.

by LiberaMeDelailah



Category: Game of Thrones (TV), The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: But the themes are there, Canon-typical asshole Jaskier dad, Drama & Romance, F/F, Fluff and Angst, Game of Thrones AU, Hopeful Ending, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, I did much research, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, The AU no one asked for, What Have I Done, Why Did I Write This?, i swear this is mostly soft, there's no smut here guys
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-16
Updated: 2021-01-16
Packaged: 2021-03-13 19:41:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,654
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28783599
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LiberaMeDelailah/pseuds/LiberaMeDelailah
Summary: It was not Geralt’s idea to fall in love.
Relationships: Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon & Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Eskel & Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Vesemir, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 16
Kudos: 51





	Where you Lead, I follow.

**Author's Note:**

> I had one moment of clarity, where my whole body went "Geraskier Game of Thrones AU" and this is exactly the result of that one moment of clarity. I spent the entire day writing this.

It was a snowy morning in the Winterfell, sunlight bathing each wall as the children ran in every direction, when Vesemir received a letter. He was sitting in the Great Hall, alone in his thoughts when one servant girl came to him with a small envelope, sealed delicately with a sigil decorating the yellow wax.

It was not often that Vesemir received letters, and it was even more uncommon that it was from someone different than the House Baratheon – with Robert wanting Aiden to marry his youngest daughter, Ciri – who was barely six. Vesemir, of course, replied with a rotund denial, for his daughter was still a child. Now, he held in his hand a message written by the delicate hand of Alerie Tyrell, the wife of Mace Tyrell, Lord of Highgarden.

_To Vesemir Stark, Lord of the North,_

_It is with great honor that I salute you, as a great ruler that you have been in the North for the last two decades. You brought Westeros prosperity by helping to exterminate que Mad King when we truly needed you most. It is a debt that the House Baratheon, nor the House of Tyrell, can ever hope to repay._

_I am writing you this letter today, to bring forth the idea of my youngest daughter marrying into the Starks, as an alliance between the Tyrells and your House. My dearest Essi just turned eighteen and it would be an honor to us all for her to be married to one of your sons. You are cordially invited to come celebrate with us the solstice, as a way for our children, and us, to grow ever closer. My husband would be delighted to hear your tales about the rebellion._

_I await anxiously your reply, may you have a blessed day and may the sun be shining over the mountains,_

_Growing strong, always,_

_Alerie Tyrell._

Vesemir read it once, then read it again. After a few minutes of silence, he sent the servant that had brought the letter away with a move of his hand. Soon, he was once again alone with his thoughts. He was not attracted nor attached to power, if anything, he grew tired of his never-ending responsibilities, but he could not deny that an alliance with the Tyrell would give his children a much-needed sense of stability and security, _especially_ considering how careless Robert was growing with the years. While he was aware Aiden was a good man, and would be a good ruler, Vesemir could not say the same for his mother, Cersei.

He could sense it, a storm growing strong in the distance.

“Papa?” A small voice brought him out of his thoughts. “Papa, Geralt won’t let me play with his sword.” In front of him stood a young girl with bright, wavy white hair. She looked at him with big, sad green eyes and he was already besotted even before she began to complain properly.

“Is that so? Well, I must reprimand him, then, isn’t that right?”

“Of course, you must! After all, how am I to be a warrior if I’m not properly trained?” She pouted, and Vesemir brought her up to his lap, kissing her forehead. She smelled an awful lot like horse sweat. “You said yourself that my mum was a warrior, so I must fight too.”

“Your mom was the mightiest of them all, my love.” As all the mothers of all his children were. Different, but beautiful and mighty all the same – a shame, really, that the plague was cruel, and the birth of all children was difficult in the North.

Geralt and Eskel both shared the same mother, while Lambert and Ciri shared another – they all met an early demise on childbirth. He had raised all his children the best he could, but of course, there were still things he could not provide.

He stood up, with Ciri holding onto his shoulders as she continued to complain about how her brothers did not let her play with them. “—I mean, I’m obviously the strongest…” Vesemir could only hum in what he hoped sounded like agreement.

* * *

Geralt was in the training grounds, a waster in his hands. In front of him, his brother, Eskel, was also standing. “Do you yield, little brother?” He said, cheekily, with a grin painting his youthful features.

“You wish, you small fry.” Eskel replied, even though he was already struggling to breath.

Even though Eskel was stronger and bigger than Geralt was, the eldest was faster. Many times, their sparring ended with the second child victorious, but today was not one of those days. Geralt stood proudly, his white mane loose from the grasp of the leather band that usually held it together.

It was just before Eskel leaped that they were interrupted with a very familiar cough. The two brothers turned to see their father, standing in the middle of the training ground, with a sleepy Ciri on his arms. The girl was talking, but she was resting her head on her father’s shoulder while she yawned and continued to complain about her brothers.

“You two abandoned me with a very strong cargo.” Vesemir smiled kindly while he kissed his daughter’s forehead.

Geralt grinned at the picture before him. His father was _weak_ for Ciri. He approached the two of them, the grin softening into a kind smile. Geralt placed a big, warm hand atop of his sister’s head. “I think someone is very tired of sparring, talked her energy off, it seems.”

“I’m not tired.” The girl said, but instantly held her arms to be picked up by her older brother, who did so instantly. “You know I’m not tired.”

Geralt hummed in response and bounced around a little with her in his arms. Soon, she was asleep. “I’m sure you aren’t starlight.” Geralt sighed. “Did you actually come out here to get Cirilla off your back or did you have some other business, father?”

“It’s not that strange to see dad out here, Geralt, he used to train us in fencing before he got back pains.” Eskel interrupted, getting close to the trio, throwing his wooden sword on the ground. “But yeah, what are you doing out here? Did Lambert get into trouble on King’s Landing? Was that the letter that was delivered earlier?”

Vesemir chuckled lightly, “No, it wasn’t your brother. Robert wrote me just last week, he told me about how marvelously both Aiden and Lambert are getting along. It was surprising, honestly, but a relief.” Vesemir looked up to the sky for a few seconds, as if gathering his thoughts. “But you are not wrong, it wasn’t just Ciri who brought me out of the Great Hall. I need to speak with you, Geralt.”

Surprised, Geralt turned to Eskel, who immediately took Ciri in his arms. “I’ll take her to her room. I _will_ bathe her; she smells like she spent too much time with your mare, brother.” Ciri seemed to grumble a little at that, but otherwise, she remained sleeping.

Geralt and Vesemir walked side by side on the halls of the Keep once Eskel had retired from the training grounds with Ciri. The two of them were of similar temperament, mostly silent unless with people they trusted, and quite shy. Vesemir liked to say that Geralt was the one who acted like him the most. The two reached the chancery by the side of Vesemir’s rooms, and they sat on a small table that held a few books and a few open envelopes.

“I’ll not beat around the bush, Geralt.” Vesemir began with a very serious, and yet kind voice. “The Tyrell’s youngest daughter is of marriageable age, and her mother just wrote us offering her for a courting prospect to House Stark.”

Geralt was astounded. It was not the first time the White Wolf of the North was offered a courting prospect, but it was the first time that Vesemir had brought it up to him. “Am I to marry her?”

“We ought at least to honor the request of joining them to celebrate the solstice with them.” Vesemir rested his head on his intertwined hands, and sighed as he leaned over the table, looking tired, all the sudden. “You know Robert and Cersei are… Not in the greatest of terms. And I fear. For what might be coming. Lambert is there as a ward to Robert, and I am glad he is befriending Aiden, but… I do not want to be left out in the open if the worst comes to happen. We _need_ allies. I know for a fact that Cersei will not kill her own child, but what happens to Robert, and whoever is friends with him – that, I do not know for sure.”

“Do you think the Queen will _murder_ Robert, father?” Geralt whispered, shock painting his voice.

“Do not be naïve, Geralt, she might. I am not blind; I know she hates my friend. I tried to warn him, but there are always too many eyes on him. I cannot risk all of you, my children and my people.”

“And Lambert?”

“I told him to act as dumb and naïve as possible, and to stay close to Aiden. He is smart enough to figure out what is happening and keeps me informed. He is safe, and if he were not, I would make sure that he returns home in one piece.”

Geralt exhaled slowly, taking in the information he was just given. “… We leave when, exactly?”

“Tomorrow.”

* * *

The next morning, Geralt and Vesemir headed out the Keep with a small group of soldiers. They left behind Eskel and Ciri, knowing that the trip was too long and tedious for a young child, and that a Stark always needed to remain on Winterfell. Eskel was happy to see them go, knowing well that once his father and older brother were out of the picture for a while, he was given free rein to do as he wished.

Geralt rode ahead, taking the lead of the group as Vesemir rode in the middle of the soldiers. It was a cold morning, as all of them were in the North. The snow covered the path ahead and intimidated all travelers not used to bathing in blizzards.

In a day or so, they would reach the Riverlands; crossing the borders between the unforgiving snowfall and a place where the sun kissed the ground; a place where the cold did not kill, and the crops grew with the tender care of farmers.

For the group to arrive at the Reach, it would take them two weeks, at least. It was a long journey on horseback, and it would be tiring, but it was a necessity. The solstice was always cruel in Winterfell, so all the soldiers looked forward to spending time under the warmth.

“Brother, Father, Winter is Coming.” Geralt heard Eskel in the distance, softly, almost like a prayer to keep him safe in strangers’ lands. The moonlit haired man heard himself reply, as gently as Eskel had whispered, “Winter is Coming.”

The group rode on.

* * *

The first rays of sunlight were always shocking to Geralt whenever he abandoned Winterfell. He knew the sun was in the sky, he knew the difference between day and night, and yet, he always forgot how it felt to have his skin tickled by the warmth of the sunrays. He looked up to the sky – a sky where there was contrast between blue and white, instead of a never-ending grey. He heard the sighs of the men behind him, and even heard his father mumble something about the heat.

“Riverlands, just before twilight.” Geralt whispered to himself, already missing the protective walls of the Keep around him. “Shall we camp, or keep on riding father?”

“Camp, we’ve traveled long enough today.”

Geralt agreed, they did manage to make it to Riverlands as expected, it was a trek that took the best southern men at least two days. But they were not from the south; all of them were born and raised in the unforgiving nights of Winterfell. “Then let us find a camping spot. Who wants to come hunting for dinner?” Geralt looked at his men, and two of the five nodded, delighted by the prospect of tasting summer’s hare.

Setting up camp was easy. They did not even bother putting up a tent – knowing full well that a bedroll would be more than enough. No men wanted to miss the sky, a place where they truly could look up to the horizon and see stars. It was not often that they could indulge in something as delightful as gazing up to the infinite, for the infinity in Winterfell was hidden under a mantle of white.

Hunting, on the other hand, proved to be quite a hassle. Animals were faster, more awake, under the heat. Geralt managed to catch just two, while another of the soldiers managed to capture three. “Not much, but it’ll do. I’ll get us the ale.”

They all sat around the bonfire, Geralt observing as the soldiers ate and drank to their heart’s content. After a while, they began to share stories – be it their first time with a woman or be it about when their mothers caught them trying to sneak a dog into their houses. “What about you, Lord Stark? Got any interesting stories to share?” One of the most inebriated asked Vesemir, a small smile covering his round face. He was an attractive man, Geralt noticed – probably one of Vesemir’s wards.

“Ah, Johal, there’s not a lot of things you’ve _not_ done at my age.” Vesemir laughed, him too, a bit drunk on ale and having eaten too little food so that the soldiers had more. Geralt’s father looked at ease here, among men. He did not have to _pretend_ to be someone he was not when they were just seven of them. It was endearing to see.

The night went on like that, until all soldiers and his father had fallen asleep while looking up to the sky. In the end, only Geralt remained awake, alone with his thoughts – he laid back on his bedroll, wondering silently about marriage and responsibility. He knew his father had married twice, once with a nobody woman, Lady of nowhere, his beautiful mother. Vesemir would say she came into his life like a storm, beckoning all attention to herself. She was powerful, in a way no noblewoman was. Hair as red as fire, eyes of amber in their color. Her name was Visenna Waters; and nothing else was known of her. She had no past, and after a few years, she had no future.

She died, the same day she gave birth to Eskel; two years after giving birth to Geralt. He does not remember much of his mother, other than the words people would utter of her. How she was beautiful and fierce, a warrior who would have taken King’s Landing had she been born a man.

Vesemir’s second wife was equally wild, Calanthe Tully. She was powerful, much more powerful than any man Vesemir had the pleasure of fighting on the battlefield. Her hair was brown and long, always up in a wild bun. Her, Geralt remembered, and he could still hear her unapologetic laughter in the halls of Winterfell. She was fire, where his father was snow. She loved all of them equally, and poor those who questioned whether she was Eskel’s or Geralt’s mother.

She was taken, too, by childbirth, but she died proudly, delivering a healthy babe, not even screamed at she was ripped by the nurse to _finally_ get Cirilla out. Calanthe kissed Ciri’s bloodied forehead once, and then she was gone. Like a lighting, like a flash, and her absence was immediately felt all over Winterfell. The Lady of the North’s laughter and vociferous personality… The void she left behind made the castle walls feel ever colder.

Geralt knew the first of his father’s marriages was out of love; the second, out of responsibility – and yet, Vesemir grew to care for Calanthe the same way he cared for Visenna. The oldest of the Stark children wondered if he could grow to love Essi the same way Vesemir grew to love Calanthe. He fell asleep with those thoughts in his mind – and yet, he grew ever uncertain about his ability to grow attached to a stranger.

* * *

It took the group exactly a week for them to arrive at the Reach. It was midday, once they were in Highgarden. Vesemir had sent off a messenger with a letter accepting the invitation the same day he had received the communication by Lady Alerie; so, they were expected by the Tyrells in the gardens of their castle.

Geralt arrived first, bowing his head slightly at the sight of both Lady Alerie and Lord Mace Tyrell. They smiled, a bit forced around the edges, but smiled nonetheless, and Geralt returned the gesture with a quirk of his lips. He dismounted Roach, approaching the Lords, giving them both an actual curtsey, he was followed by Vesemir, and then his soldiers.

“It is an immense honor to have the Wardens of the North in our humble abode.” Lord Tyrell almost boasted, and Geralt could not help but notice that there was nothing humble in the castle they were at.

“It is ours the honor to be invited to spend the Solstice with the Wardens of the South.” Vesemir’s voice was more subdued, but still strong enough to be carried around for the whole garden to hear. He knew, Lords enjoyed their egos to be struck. “Lady Tyrell, you’ve grown ever so lovely since the last time I saw you.”

Lady Alerie smiled, and true to Vesemir’s words, even though she was a woman well-passed her thirties, she was still beautiful. Her smile was pristine, and her hair was up and blond, kept neatly furled in a braided hairstyle. “Truly, you humble me with your words, Lord Stark. And your son, he has grown to be quite a sight.” She looked up to Geralt with delight in her gaze. “But enough of this, look…” She pointed with her delicate hand at three young adults standing behind her. “These are Jaskier, my oldest, Shani, and Essi.”

There, among the crowd of servants and soldiers, under the sun of spring, stood three gorgeous visages. The oldest – Jaskier, a man with a beautiful, angular face, with long hair reaching his shoulders and eyes as blue as the sea. Besides him, two smaller creatures, more delicate. Shani, a red haired with short, unbound curls, and beautiful green eyes, and Essi, a delicate flower, with long, blond hair and _big_ blue eyes. Geralt was almost at a loss, he had never even _met_ people who were this beautiful.

Jaskier extended his hand, a smile playing on his lips. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, future Lord of the North.” He said, and offered a handshake, which Geralt took, dumbfounded. The oldest Stark looked into Jaskier’s eyes and he was… besotted. In a way he had never been before. When their hands met, he could feel the calluses on each of Jaskier’s fingers, and he was at a loss, wondering if those were the hands of a fighter, or perhaps the hands of an artist.

“The pleasure it’s all mine, future Warden of the South.”

“Heavens forbid my brother taking over the South, my lord!” Shani interrupted, hooking her arm to Jaskier’s elbow. “A pleasure, by the way. I am the second daughter, sadly, already promised to another lordling. Had I been available, and you might have found yourself promised to me instead of Essi, my lord.” Shani was perhaps a bit too energetic, and maybe a bit too extroverted for a lady already promised, but, in all honesty, it made Geralt consider her even more charming.

“Shani, you ought to be more delicate. Not because you’re already promised does it mean you can go around and be as disrespectful as you can with every suitor.” Essi sighed, and she offered her hand to Geralt, expecting a kiss. He gave it, not lingering much into the gesture, but being able to smell the vanilla that was rubbed into Essi’s hands. “It is truly a pleasure to meet you, my lord.” Her voice was like silk, and she was really a beautiful woman… but, if he were an honest man, Geralt would admit that his gaze was lured by Jaskier’s small, delicate smile.

“It is my honor to make your acquaintance, my lady.” Geralt murmured, not really looking at Essi’s face, instead, letting his gaze touch the ground beneath their feet, covered in greenery and flowers.

“Ah, let us give you a tour around the manor, it would be unbecoming of us if not. Then, we’ll let you freshen up in the guest rooms we’ve arranged.” Lord Tyrell was still trying to show off, to whom Geralt did not know.

Vesemir had no interest in the material, and Geralt was much the same. Even if he had grown up noble, he still had to do many things himself, Vesemir not allowing any of them to be too pampered or spoiled – the only one who was given such niceties was Cirilla, and honestly, none of the brothers had the heart to be jealous at their small sister.

They walked around the castle, following Lord Mace silently. Geralt was standing the furthest away from the group, preferring to keep distance from the Lords and Ladies. He observed as Shani and Essi walked behind their mother, their heads held high. Vesemir walked by Lord Mace, as the Warden of the South continued to speak about the many achievements his family had acquired over the years.

“Hello, my Lord.” Geralt heard a whisper beside him and turned his head to see Jaskier standing by him. “Oh, did not mean to startle you.”

Geralt huffed, trying to reassure himself that he was indeed not frightened by Jaskier, “You did not, don’t worry.”

“Sure, sure. I am very surprised to see the White Wolf of the North here, though. Curious, even. Tell me, is it true that you once faced a bear by yourself and were victorious?”

That was a story, not the reality, the truth was that Eskel and Geralt found themselves face to face with a bear once, on a hunting trip. The two of them had to face the beast together. People simply liked the dramatics of the future Warden of the North facing a bear by himself, and so they started to tell the story as such. “No, it wasn’t as dramatic as that.”

“No? Disappointing, how about the Direwolves pack you dispatched one night, bathed by the moonlight?”

The future Lord of Winterfell snorted at that, and he tried to cover it as a cough. “No, I did not even know there was such a story about me.”

“There isn’t, but you’ve got quite a stoic face, so seeing you laugh was worth that small little lie.” Jaskier winked at him, and _that_ did something to Geralt’s insides that he did not dare to touch just yet. “You are quite a catch among nobility, are you not?”

“You say such things as if you’re not a nobleman yourself.” Geralt replied with a shadow of a smile playing on his lips.

Jaskier hummed, pondering onto his nobility. “Not quite the same, I’m sorry to say. You’re a warrior, and while I’m trained on a sword, I’m much more…”

“An artist?”

“A musician. How did you know?”

“You have got calluses, but your grip is not as strong as a swordsman. Your posture too, you are too open, not really trying to defend yourself, if you were a fighter, you would try to protect yourself from enemies even in safety, by instinct. You are no fighter.”

Jaskier looked at him, enraptured. “You caught that only by looking at me?”

Geralt did not reply. He hummed and continued following the group. He felt Jaskier’s eyes on him all the while, as they walked along the long halls of the castle in Highgarden. The walls were decorated with beautiful portraits of the family – people who lived long before the Mad King, and people who lived even before the Targaryen.

“Do you know the story on how your father killed the Mad King, my Lord?” Suddenly, Jaskier asked, bringing him out of his introspection. “I mean, we all know the legend. How Lord Stark walked in on the king and cut his head clean off, ending the rebellion right there and then.”

The white-haired lord sighed. That was not a story his Father enjoyed telling, but… There was no damage in doing it justice. “It wasn’t as legendary as it may sound.” Geralt whispered as they walked, listening to Lord Mace, to see if there was anyone paying them any heed. There was not. They were still talking about the infrastructure of the castle.

“They were all in King’s Landing, father and his troops. He says that both him and Jaime Lannister, brother of the Queen regent, reached the Red Keep, and they both faced off against the Mad King. Jaime was stabbed on the neck in the fight, and my father used that moment to cut off the Mad King’s head. Lord Lannister did not survive the fight, and my father was named a hero and a King’s Slayer. He does not bear that title with pride.”

“But your father did save Westeros, he should wear that title with pride.”

“My father says the true hero of that evening was Lord Lannister – had he not thrown himself headfirst to the battlefield they would not have reached the Mad King at all. There is not one day in which he thanks the true King’s Slayer, Lord Lannister betrayed his oath to the King for what he thought was right, and then died believing in honor.”

“I believe your father to be a hero, nonetheless. He, too, stood by what he believed and followed it through, to the very end.” Jaskier was not looking at Geralt anymore, he was looking ahead, his head held high, same as his sister. “Don’t let it be shame that taints his good name.”

“It ended in the death of the real hero, and my father was never one to boast on his victories.” Geralt walked on besides Jaskier, and the two of them fell into a companionable silence while they heard the voice of Lord Mace still in the goings on of the life in nobility since birth. Lord Mace continued prattling away in self-absorption, and it made Geralt wonder about the nobility in the South. “Are you all so…”

“Narcissistic? Not really. But my Father enjoys listening to his own voice as he speaks quite a lot, and that is coming from someone who does, too, enjoy the sound of their speech.” Jaskier laughed, and that was the most beautiful sound Geralt ever heard. It was melodious and sarcastic, real, and _raw,_ and Geralt suddenly wanted to hear it in a place where it was not contained by the palm of Jaskier’s hand. “I apologize. My father is not the nicest of men and I honestly would do without him, but he is still my father all the same.”

“We all have our animosity with our parents, from time to time.”

“Not the same, my dear Lord, not quite the same.”

* * *

Half an hour went by, and finally, Vesemir and Geralt were free to roam around their private rooms. They had baths prepared for them, and a few doublets readied for the Solstice Waltz that was to begin the next day in the afternoon. Geralt was alone, laying happily on the bath while his head rested on the bathtub’s rim.

It was a long day, too long. Lord Mace talked too much, and did not know when was enough. Lady Alerie was kind enough to put a stop to the monologue after it looked like Vesemir was tired of walking around and listening to the same phrases on repeat.

He thought back on the Tyrell siblings. The three of them were gorgeous, in their own unique way. Essi was elegant and her voice melodious. Her frame was petite and mixed up with her big eyes and long hair, it gave her an air of innocence.

On the other hand, Shani was tall, and her frame was bigger, of a strong build. She was confident, and cocky, and her short red hair made her seem like the flame of a candle as she moved with the ease of a dancer.

Then, he thought of Jaskier. He was cultured, in the way the musicians were. Decorating the words, and the stories, making them interesting, but still holding a gram of truth. He also had the pace of a dancer, his every step looking like a waltz, and his easy smile was made to charm the crowds in cities such as King’s Landing.

There was a knock at the door in Geralt’s room, and he considered ignoring it for the sake of continuing to enjoy his bath – but in the end, he stood, taking a rag to finish drying himself up. “Sorry, I was taking a shower, I will answer shortly.” Geralt replied to a second pair of knocks.

He found some loose pants, and a chemise, and he put it on. Not quite dignified, but still better than answering his door naked. He went, and once he opened, he found Jaskier leaning against the wall in the hall, his hair up in a bun, and he was also dressed in just a chemise and some pants.

“Hello, my Lord.” Jaskier grinned charmingly. “I’m sorry I interrupted your alone time, but I couldn’t help myself.”

“Not to worry, but—” Geralt coughed a little, as he allowed Jaskier into his room. The future Warden of the South simply stared at him, expectantly for the continuation of his sentence. “I would prefer if you called me Geralt. Lord is my father.”

“It would be my honor, Geralt, if you would give me the pleasure of also referring to me as my given name.”

“I—ah, yes. Jaskier, then.”

“If I am honest with you, my real name is Julian, but my mother has always liked calling me her buttercup, even in the language of the free cities. She was never pleased that my father named me after his father, instead of letting her choose a name herself.” Jaskier chuckled innocently, as if he was sharing a mortal secret between sworn brothers. “My father and I don’t see eye to eye, you see. My grandmother has had to put him in his place one too many times.”

“Your grandmother?”

“Of course. She has saved me from marriage obligations hundreds of times already. I am simply not interested in marrying, you see. My sisters can have the responsibility, I just want to enjoy my life.”

Geralt hummed and took a seat on the single bed that was in the room. Jaskier roamed around, checking the furniture as if this were the first time he had been in this room – it probably was. “You’re too lucky, my—Jaskier. Your mother and my father plan on seeing a courting process between your sister and I.”

“Incredibly boring stuff, I swear. I cannot deny though, that I might be envious of Essi on my mother’s choice. I was honest in my praise earlier today; you are quite a catch.”

The white-haired felt himself blush, and his heart did something strange that he did not care to explore. “You are all too kind. I am only but a brute, but you are a man of culture. A smart woman would prefer a man that could keep up with her wits, instead of a warrior that has no conversational skills.”

“Oh, you undersell yourself. Women, or men, really, up here in the South, they are not interested in wits, nor skills, nor your _sword,_ but your title. Marrying up into a family that will bring security and stability or lands into your House. It is the only thing that keeps marriages going. Perhaps your partner will grow attached, or perhaps the two of you will cheat and live in the knowledge that you are both in a loveless marriage.”

Geralt did not know what to say, nor how to say it, so he did not reply, he simply hummed, looking down to the floor as he felt Jaskier walking around the room, standing in front of the window that gave a view of the Lady Alerie’s garden. “My mother plants forget me nots, in the garden. One per each candidate her father denied her. One per each lover she took while married. I fear that is not the future I hope for myself.”

No words came from the future Warden of the North, he simply stared at Jaskier as he talked and talked, saying too much and yet saying nothing at all; and in the end, he turned his bidder gaze to meet Geralt’s own amber gaze. “Give my sister a love story, Geralt. For I cannot have one of my own.”

The eldest brother of the Starks found himself nodding, even though he did not understand what he was agreeing to.

* * *

The next afternoon, Geralt and Vesemir were standing in the mist of the Great Hall of the Castle of Highgarden, they both were accompanied by Lady Alerie, Shani and Essi, the latter was holding Geralt’s arm, getting escorted around the dancefloor. She was wearing the same vanilla perfume that was on her hand back when she and Geralt were introduced.

“Have you enjoyed your stay, my Lord?” Essi whispered, a strand of her hair falling over her left eye. “I hope my brother has not been too much of a hassle, he tends to be… too much. But he means well.”

“My Lady, you have nothing to worry about. You have been great hosts and your brother has been nothing but kind and eager to please.” Geralt found himself automatically replying, not really giving it much thought to the words as they fled from his grasp – however, it seemed to be the perfect answer, for Essi smiled as charmingly as Jaskier had the day before.

“I am pleased to hear so. If Jaskier and you are getting along, then I have nothing to worry about.” She murmured candidly and continued to walk around arm in arm with Geralt. “And you, Master Warden, have you enjoyed your stay?”

“I have, milady, you have been all wonderfully kind.” Vesemir did not smile, but his eyes were warm as he stared at the young lady Essi.

Shani remained strangely quiet, as if she were lost in her thoughts. Lady Alerie stood by her, looking for something in the distance, then, suddenly, the sound of a lyre brought everyone out of their conversations. In the middle of the Great Hall, a single man stood.

Geralt already knew Jaskier was a musician, but it was still a shock to see him stand proud at the center of a crowd. Nobles and servants alike observed as Jaskier played, his eyes closed and wrinkling at the edges as he sang.

_I can see you standing, honey_

_With his arms around your body_

_Laughing but the joke's not funny at all_

_And it took you five whole minutes_

_To pack us up and leave me with it_

_Holding all this love out here in the hall_

Geralt heard his voice, so broken, so saddened, like the weight of the world was laying on his shoulders. He was singing about heartache, and his voice was… was yearning and _hurt,_ but it was the most beautiful thing the future Warden of the North had ever heard. He was so struck, he stopped walking altogether, making Essi stop as well.

_I think I have seen this play before_

_And I did not like the ending_

_You are not my homeland anymore_

_So, what am I defending now?_

_You were my town_

_Now I am in exile seeing you out_

_I think I have seen this play before_

“My brother is the Siren of the Reach, Highgarden’s very soul.” Geralt heard Essi praise, but he truly was not paying her any heed. “He was trained in the musical arts, by the best bards Westeros could pay for. I am merely a singer, but my brother? My brother is a musician, through and through.”

_I can see you staring, honey_

_Like he is just your understudy_

_Like you would get your knuckles bloody for me_

_Second, third, and hundredth chances_

_Balancing on breaking branches_

_Those eyes add insult to injury_

Geralt’s gaze met with Jaskier’s, and he was lost in the fire that he found beneath the surface of the blue of his eyes. He was drowning in his voice; in a way he had never found himself drowning before. Essi eyed him and smiled kindly. “He is bright, isn’t he, my Lord?”

The future Warden of the North found himself nodding, and he continued to hear the concert along with Essi, who sang her brother praises. By the end of the night, Geralt and Essi were walking and talking as friends would, but they were talking about _Jaskier._

Shani found herself joining in, and, understanding brightened her features as she saw the way Geralt looked over, trying to follow Jaskier’s voice. “He’s… Not for you, Essi.” She whispered to her sister, almost pained, but Essi simply chuckled and shrugged.

“He is not for me to _keep,_ but I can do little to help, both of our cases.” Essi whispered back, and Geralt looked over at the two of them, having heard the entire conversation. “We’ll speak more later. Where no ears can listen, and no eyes can follow.” She whispered, and then, she asked for a dance.

They waltzed, and Vesemir and Alerie smiled at each other as they saw their children getting along _that_ well. It was assured, then, in both of their minds, that a courting and a marriage would soon start.

* * *

It was way past midnight when a knock resounded in Geralt’s door. He rose, confused, and checked to see if he was clothed before opening – willing to put up a fight. What he found though, surprised him enough to kill the anger that lingered in his tired state. Essi was standing before him. She seemed as if she was ready for bed. “I am so sorry for coming uninvited, but I have a proposal for milord that cannot wait.”

“What proposal would be made at midnight, my lady?” Geralt asked, and yet he allowed her inside the room all the same. She, same as her brother, looked around critically, scrutinizing the furniture as if it had personally offended her.

“You do not like me, at least, not as a wife. However, you are quite interested in my brother.” Essi stated and shrugged her arms when Geralt stuttered words of denial. “Worry not, I am not offended. I think I have an idea that might benefit us both.”

“What is your idea, milady?”

“You court me, of course. And give me one son or daughter. After that, you are free to do as you like with my brother. I’ll be the Lady of Winterfell, and my children will be the future lords, but I’ll give you your life back to you, to do with it as you like.” She looked up to him, her eyes kind and understanding. “I know what it is like to yearn for something you cannot have, I have fallen for so _many,_ milord. Be it woman or be it man. I understand you, and so does Jaskier. I am just better at hiding it. I do not enjoy being whipped.”

“Your father—”

“He is a bastard.”

“So, let us say I’m willing. Are you certain you want to spend your life tied to a man who… Might be incapable of loving you?”

“Dear, I have spent my life under my father’s roof, aware that if he knew me whole, he would be incapable of loving me. Your love will simply be different, not inexistent. We can be friends, Geralt. Allies.”

“You two are quite the conspirators, you know?” The two of them heard a voice coming from the door, and they found Jaskier leaning against the doorframe, in his face an unreadable expression. “So, you are using me as a selling point for your schemes, Essi?”

“Not so cold, dear brother. Not quite so cold. You are also interested in Lord Geralt, and if you were not, you would not have followed me here in the middle of the night.” Essi seemed colder for a minute or two, but then, her posture softened. “I am not using you, Jaskier. But I want stability. An alliance with the Starks _is_ a way to keep us secured. Nothing is stronger than a marriage.”

“You can always marry the younger brother.”

Geralt interrupted with, “He’s promised to Lady Susanna Arryn, in the Vales.”

“And if I am not to marry Geralt, my mother will arrange a marriage with Ramsay Bolton.” Essi shuddered. “I am not stupid; I know what my fate would be if I were to marry Lord Bolton.”

“We all do, milady.” Geralt was aware that Ramsay was cruel, and a sadist, as his entire family was. Everyone in the North feared them, including the Starks.

“I _will_ give you peace, milord.”

Jaskier sighed, defeated. “I asked Geralt to give you _romance_ , dear sister.”

Essi turned to see her brother, with sadness and pity painting her expression. “ _Romance_ for women doesn’t exist, dear brother. We are to be sold to the highest bidder. We are nothing but cattle.”

Jaskier held his sister’s face between his hands. “You are so much more than just cattle, Catalina.” He rested his forehead against Essi’s. Geralt observed the silent interaction with a heart that went to them. It was indeed true, that women were nothing but mere articles to be sold to the best man. It was a fate they all shared, except for Cirilla, that had control over her own destiny, such power given to her by Geralt’s father. “I’m sorry that the world doesn’t see it.”

“You too, Dandelion, but this is the card we were given.” Essi hugged Jaskier close, and then looked over to Geralt. “Do we have a deal?”

Geralt thought back on Jaskier’s words, on the _romance he could not have_ , on the chains these two lost souls shared… He thought on the musicians’ eyes, filled with yearning, and hope and sadness, and on his voice as he delivered line after line – crying for help, for _love._ “Yes.”

* * *

The next morning was chaos. Geralt and Essi announced their courting in front of the Great Hall. The news was welcomed, even appreciated by all… Except for Shani, who looked confused as Geralt proclaimed that he had intentions of pursuing Essi. After a while, when breakfast was eaten and everyone was having their own small conversations, Essi took Shani to the side of the room, explaining to her what had transpired the night before.

Geralt, on his part, went to the gardens. He was exhausted, the night before being a sleepless one after the Tyrell siblings had left his room.

“You know, you’ll get wrinkles if you keep frowning.” The soon to be Warden of the North jumped slightly, as he felt a soft touch in his shoulder, and then it was followed by a laugh. “Do not fret, I shall protect you from harm.”

The white-haired man turned, seeing Jaskier standing behind him with a smile on his face – one that did not quite reach his eyes. “You could have said no, you know?”

“No to what, exactly?”

“Essi, and her scheming. I know she is quite the articulate little lady, but marriage… I asked you to love her, Geralt. Jumping into political advantages is not the same.”

“And she asked me to love you, Jaskier.”

“Can you, though? Can you love me?”

“I don’t know. I do not know you, Jaskier, but I want to _get_ to know you. You interest me. There is something about you…” Geralt was at a loss. He did not understand, he simply thought Jaskier was…

“I’m drawn to you, too. But _you asked to court my sister_ , for the sake of all that is holy, and the Gods that I do not believe in. What is it that compelled you to take such a risk?”

“It was not an uncalculated risk, Jaskier. We need allies, for the times ahead. And your House and mine joining forces in case a war comes… It is not stupidity. Call it hope, perhaps.”

“Hope?”

“That there is a chance for romance yet, Jaskier.”

The musician stood there, dumbfounded. A man that often got lost in his words, stood silenced by a simple phrase uttered by a Lord that was _everything_ but a romantic. Jaskier extended his hand and touched Geralt’s sleeve – it was such a light grace of his fingers; the future Warden of the North might have imagined it. “Do not say things like that, Geralt. I might believe them. And I do not have the luxury of faith.”

Geralt sighed and looked up to the sky, “I want to know where it leads. The path ahead.”

“Then… guide me through it.” Jaskier extended his hands, holding Geralt’s sleeve once again. “Show me that we can still be _loved_.” He begged, his voice barely a whisper.

The musician’s prayer was answered, perhaps by the Gods he did not believe in, or maybe, by _destiny_. 

* * *

_“They say when you meet the love of your life, time stops, and that's true. What they don't tell you is that when it starts again, it moves extra fast to catch up."_

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so so so so much for reading!! I hope you all enjoyed my crazy little AU. I almost couldn't sleep trying to get it out of my system.


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